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11807593 No.11807593 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]


Doing some inquisitor based writefaggotry.

Need a suitable conspiracy plot line that an ordo xenos inquisitor can find themselves in.

>> No.11807611

his entire retinue has been implanted with the genestealer parasiteamajig

>> No.11807622
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with sexy results

>> No.11807796


A good idea certainly, but his warband are characters in their own right, rather than redshirts.

>> No.11807805
File: 21 KB, 272x299, 1282547582250.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

>> No.11807812

Oh, damn.

Anybody have the Adeptus Ghostbusters screencap?

>> No.11807849

Moar Uplifting Primer concerning Tau and Gue'Vesa!

>> No.11807869


hahaha. Nice. I'd like to see that just for the comedy value

>> No.11807874

Well, I've got the original post, but I never got the screencap result.

Give me a second, I'll see what I can do.

>> No.11807891

Tyranids infested the Golden Throne, ate the emperors remains and installed an overmind inside the golden throne.

The astronomicon is now broadcasting a signal into space for all the universes hive minds to converge.

>> No.11807895

K, here goes.

Blood poured down from his mouth and nostrils, forming thin, dark lines across his face running down to the remnants of his carapace plate, where they joined over a dozen yellow-green trails, leaking away from welts scattered about his arms and chest. A few splashes of blood spattered down on him. He shuddered. Whimpering came out as whistling through his broken teeth.

Inquisitor Mayore, of the Ordo Malleus, blinked. The world seemed fuzzy, as if he was back in his Interrogator days, hitting bars for Amasec shots with his fellow Ordo trainees. He grasped for his emergency sidearm--a squat antique laspistol, in a shoulder harness on his right side. His fingers, damaged and--somehow shorter than usual, he noted--pulled it out of its holster, shaking off a few fragments of bone and teeth, and swung it about to face outward. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on hymns of mental clarity he had memorized long ago, and opened them again.

He was leaning against a wall, on one side of a massive stone cathedral, decorated haphazardly in defiled Imperial statuary and crude symbols of the Ruinous Powers. Bodies lay scattered about, draped over damaged pews, or nailed to walls with their own weaponry. He recognized some of them--Brother Khaseer, the Tallarn Redemptionist who'd served with him for decades, roasted by his own flamer; Sister Suzanne, the former guardian of this temple, foully murdered with chainsword, and draped naked atop one of her guardsmen; d'Eath, his faithful Arbitrator, whose legs and torso had been stacked in a pile on the far side of the cathedral. D'Eath's head--

>> No.11807910

D'Eath's head was in the hands of a short, very fat man, shrouded in greenish goo, and floating six feet off the ground three yards from where the Inquisitor now lay. The man had shoved one hand through D'eath's neck, while his other had been shoved into another head--Lord Farq, a local nobleman. Pus poured out of their noses and dribbled off their chins. Their eyes bulged, like overly ripe tomatoes.

"I say, milord," the man said through the side of his mouth, moving D'Eath's jaw up and down like a macabre puppet, "This has been a wonderful party! Thank you so much for inviting pitiful peasant scum like myself!"

"Oh, no problem," the man said, continuing with Farq's jaw. "It was my plea-sure; every party needs some entertainment, after all--and the antics of thiefcatchers are slapstick in its highest form. Shall we start the sing-along now?"

The man cleared his throat. "Why can't weeee be friends?" he sang, waving both heads, jaws flapping, joyously in the air. "Why can't weee be friends? Why can't weeee be friends? Why can't we be frieeeends?"

>> No.11807920

"Cease," Mayore whispered, pointing the laspistol at the man--at the daemonhost, he remembered. Slymar, butcher of the upper spires, the bane of Hive Amstardom.

"Don't be a spoilsport," the daemonhost said. A bit of goo dripped off his toes. "Didn't you ever watch the Muppets as a child?"

"Get back, monster," Mayore groaned.

"Honestly, Inquisitor, you're a terrible bore," Slymar said, tossing Farq's head onto Mayore's chest. "You should lighten up. Join us in a song or two. You can even play Farq; I've got plenty of other heads to choose from."

Mayore squeezed the trigger. The laspistol pooped.

Slymar laughed.

He glanced down at the pistol. The front half--firing chamber, control circuits, everything--had been torn away, leaving burnt and twisted fragments of metal where the barrel should have been.

"No guns, Mayore," Slymar said. "We're going to have a little funtime before you die, and I'd rather your antics stay... family-friendly. Mine won't. Now, come on, sing with me!"

A few prickling fingers of warp energy tapped in his head. Mayore shut his eyes. "Blessed is the Emperor, for he protects--"

"I SAID SING," Slymar growled. "Sing with me! 'When you're down, and troooooubled, and you neeeed some love and care!' Come on!"

>> No.11807932

"The Emperor's Sword," Mayore rumbled, his voice sing-song. Fingers were digging into his mind, like claws picking at a sore. "Is a mighty swift chainsworrrd..."

"NOT THAT," Slymar said, splattering d'Eath's head against the wall by Mayore's face. "Good songs, you rotten sap! Not that boring puritan shite! SING WITH ME!"

"Never." Mayore groaned. He sat up. "Not one word. I won't give you one inch, daemon."

"You'll give me more than that, by the end," Slymar said. He floated closer, pulling himself forward by long, thin chains of dripping pus.

A beam of twisting orange energy shot past him.

Slymar rolled his eyes. "What the dick."

>> No.11807941

Four men stormed through the Cathedral's door, clad and hooded in dirty-red Mechanicus robes. "Blast him!" shouted one, his voice warped with static. Four more beams of orange and purple shot out from their hands, flowing through the air like crazed serpents.

Mayore rolled to his side, and hauled himself onto his knees, using the wall as a brace. A tendril of slime flickered out from Slymar, slapping him down onto his side, while the beast itself turned and charged towards the newcomers, its ooze cracking and slurping against the blasted marble floor. A wave of energy slammed into the wall above Mayore, sending tiny, half-melted chunks of masonry all across his arms and face. Mayore twisted, groaning and grunting, and pulled himself onto his face, shielding his head with bleeding fingers.

He glanced tentatively at the battle in the Cathedral's center. The four techpriests had surrounded the beast, each carrying massive black backpacks attached by tubes to short, carbine-like weapons--like backpack-generator hellguns, only shooting strange beams of plasma, instead of their normal hotshot las. The beams themselves twisted as whips around the beast, snagging him and holding him and tearing at the host's flesh. The daemonhost howled, slapping at the techpriests with waves of greenish ichor.

One wave struck a techpriest full in the chest, ripping skin and robes off his hands and arms. He convulsed, vomiting green and black across the battered tiles. The others flowed around him, forming a shrinking triangle with a writhing daemonhost at its center.

>> No.11807953

After a minute, the vomiting priest managed to shift into a kneel, and tore a brick-like piece of black metal off of his back generator, and onto the floor right underneath the screaming beast. The box snapped open, letting loose a vortex energy that lit up the entire cathedral, with the box itself as its epicenter. Slowly, the three techpriests lowered the howling monster towards the box--their beams actively forcing the monster down through the vortex and towards the box. Their eyes were fixed upward, as if they dared not look down at their target.

The howling grew louder. The vortex brightened, like a star had been let loose in the ruined chapel. The three priests released their grip on the monster, letting their energy beams scatter across the cathedral's ceiling.

And then the light vanished. The daemonhost was gone, leaving only the box, a light blinking on its side, and a hunk of severely charred meat that could only have been its host. One of the techpriests ran up and grabbed the box. The others shook hands.

Mayore grunted.

The four started, and then turned and marched towards Mayore, glancing around the room carefully, as if waiting for more daemons to appear. One of them chattered something in binary. The other three laughed.

One of the techpriests rushed a little further forward. He was holding the box--the same box that had absorbed the beast--by a thin black cable, and letting it dangle from his hand. Steam poured out from the box, as if something inside was keeping it very, very hot. "Inquisitor Mayore?" the techpriest asked. "By St. Egon! Thank the Omnissiah you still live! From the radio reports your Interrogator had sent us, we thought you were long dead!"

"Who..." Inquisitor Mayore coughed, leaving a drizzle of blood on the floor. "Who... what... are you?"

"Well..." the techpriest said. "We're the new Ghostbusters."

>> No.11807968

There. Sorry for taking up part of your thread with my repost.

>> No.11808016


Not a problem! A very nice read it was too.

>> No.11808045


Bumping, because more writefaggotry is always welcome.

>> No.11808112

What I've written so far:

The trip to the world of Endocant, a populous garden world in the Endicae sector, was exceptionally dull. Mind numbingly so in fact. Not that there wasn't plenty of work to be doing in the mean time, but by the throne, there have been more entertaining funerals.

The Archangel, a fast imperial transport ship, was dropped out of warp with the freighter that it had accompanied with a bright, silent flash – the Gellar field that protected both ships from the warp flickered as it faded, no longer needed now that they were in real space.

Inquisitor Orian stood on the modest bridge of the Archangel and surveyed the mostly purple and blue planet before them. He was a tall caucasian man, of an unremarkable stature and gait, well toned but hardly a bodysculptor. He had his long dark hair tied behind his head, his brilliant blue-green eyes reflected the image of the planet and the off-white of the ship's readouts, his straight-bridged nose casting a shadow across his stubbly cheeks. He then cast a furrowed brow at one of the readouts, his dark eyebrows tensed in a stare of concentration, trying to pick a suitable spaceport.

Not exactly the place of legend making he thought to himself, mentally recalling what he'd read about the planet. It was mostly unremarkable. Paid its tithes, put out some useful Guard regiments, manufactured most of what any other planet of this size manufactures.

>> No.11808126


In front of him was Robert Carley, the skipper of the vessel, and a Navy lieutenant. The bionic half of his face glinted as some sunlight reflected off an ocean, he looked down to his instruments. His brown organic eye flitted alertly between different visual readouts. He pursed his thin lips as he was about to speak, but the Inquisitor interrupted him.

"Robert, take us down to..." Orian started, looking at a different holo-readout of the planet's surface, "take us down to Tractus Prodigium Secundus, if you would be a gent." He tapped his finger on the spaceport's location on the readout, although Robert couldn't see it.

"Aye, sir. You wish me to announce that you are a special guest?" Robert asked with his slightly raspy voice, twitching as he did sometimes when he was plugged directly into the ship's systems. He was asking if the inquisitor wanted to make his presence known.

Orian paused for a moment, snapping his head forwards at Robert before he answered, catching a glimpse of the planet beginning to fill the forward viewer.

"No. No I don't think so." He said laxly. "Got any alibis that we can use?"

"Aye, Sir – plenty!" Robert said with a grin, although only the organic side of his face responded. The inquisitor could see the lieutenant's smile in the reflection on the viewport. Robert twitched a couple of times again and started to murmur something quietly. Orian figured that he was now in commune with the control deck on the spaceport.

>> No.11808154


That's it so far. As I said in my original post, I'm a little stuck for a conspiracy like plotline that I could use.

>> No.11808224

self bump for ideas and feedbacks =3

>> No.11808238

Tis interesting thusfar. Continue.

>> No.11808430


Pacing out of the darkened bridge via the rear door, into the more brightly roof corridor, the gunmetal walls glinting a little in the soft light. He descended the first flight of spiral stairs that he came to quite loudly, the metal under his boots clanging as he went. This continued as he descended the 30 feet or so downwards. He was now in the oratory, nominally the primary working area of small crew, and the hub of all of the ships corridors. It was architecturally cathedral like, about 10 yards from floor to ceiling and about 100 yards from front to back, made from the same gunmetal finish with a faux stone floor. Generous well reinforced windows offered a view into space.

Under each window was a workstation, most were unmanned, as they needed only occasional attention. Some had a servitor at them – servitors being non-sentient cyborgs programmed to work menial or dangerous tasks. The pulpit had the Engineer Primus sat upon, pleasant enough chap who worked tireless to appease the ship's machine spirit. He was himself heavily augmented in bionics, and sported the skull and cog of the adeptus mechanicus proudly over his read robes.

"Good day, Inquisitor" He called in a chipper mechanical voice as he saw the inquisitor coming down the stairs and strolling with purpose past his pulpit. Orian smiled at him and inclined his head politely as he strolled past.

A few corridors went to the cargo hold to the fore of the ship, a few went to the engines directly underneath them, a couple more went to the habitation area forward of Orian's current location. This was where he was heading, to gather those he would be taking with him on this sojourn and to give them a brief.

>> No.11808712

He opened the heavy door using a palm scanner, and was bathed in the brighter, more natural looking light beyond. He decended another flight of stairs and opened a second, lighter door to gain access to the habitation area. The habitation area was much more passenger friendly than the oratory. Grey and dark red panels hid the utilitarian gunmetal structure. The corridor that he strode into was slightly off the axis of centre axis of the ship, but went from the oratory directly forwards.

To one side were the amenities of the ship's passengers – things like the gymnasium, armoury, range, cella vulgaris, silentica, and so on. The other side were the passenger quarters. Capable of holding 50 passengers like this – it would normally be used to cater for Navy and Guard officers, or other passengers of importance. Only 9 rooms were currently in use. The crew of the ship themselves, the 30 or so who weren't servitors, had an identical arrangement a deck down.

Orian felt the slight pull of the planets gravity pulling him rearwards, a sign they had been cleared for low orbit. An encompassing mechanical winding down signalled the artificial gravity compensating. He ignored the sensation, other than to acknowledge it, and continued on to his quarters. He didn't stop to see where his entourage were, and instead placed his palm on the scanner to open the door.

>> No.11808718

Naturally as befitting his station, his quarters were the largest on the ship, and offered a direct view forwards through a large, reinforced round window. It did have shutters, but he rarely opted to deploy them. His room was about 15 yards squared and coloured in dark, sombre hues, but still managed to feel warm. His bed was in one corner, a comfortable and utilitarian furnishing. He caught the woft of wildflower from the fresh sheets as he passed it, a contented smile on his face for a few moments before returning to his deadpan norm.

His apparelium was opposite, the expansive collection of clothing it held was a source of constant quips from his entourage. The crew themselves were generally too respectful/terrified to comment about it. He passed it as he went further. There was a powerful heater next, although it was not currently active; and beyond that the walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books, tomes and scrolls.

He was heading thought towards the two ancient expansive wooden desks, looking back into the room from under the window. One was clear and empty with no seat, the other had a few open books upon it as well as several dataslates. A holographic projector showed the planet with several locations marked in an ominous red.

Currently his window bathed him with purple and blue reflected light from the planet. The inquisitor paused for a moment to admire the vierw, and sat down at the messier desk. He took his grey jumper off, showing a smart black shirt, and hanging it on the back of the chair.


I'm going to need plot ideas soon. Most of what I have done so far is just describe his ship.

>> No.11808796

Istvaanians always make for good plot points. They try to tear the Imperium apart in order to strengthen it.

Xenotech is right up such an inquisitor's alley. A potential plot line could be a renegade Istvaanian inquisitor involved in a plot to use xenotech to drive the wealthiest and most powerful people on a hive world insane, causing them to battle each other and tear the world apart, which the Istvaanian believes will strengthen it.

Other potential plot lines include anything that has to do with the more powerful xenos, such as the Eldar, manipulating the Imperium for their own ends. For example, they could be engineering an uprising on an Imperium world to tie down forces that would have otherwise stumbled upon and attacked a group of exodites. They could be using their psyker abilities and advanced technology to aid the rebels.

>> No.11808970



I was thinking much the same with the Istvaanian, but hadn't managed to actually make a plot from it.

However, thanks to inspiration from your post, I have now got a solid plot! :D

>> No.11809008


He took a bottle of Eritan Rootweed from a draw on the desk and poured himself a very small glass of it. He savoured the earthen, wild and fruity smell of the beverage before he gently tipped it against his lips and swallowed. He did like the taste a lot, and this was definitely a drink that was to be savoured, not get drunk on.

He triggered a nerve impulse that activated his implanted vox link, with another selecting its frequency. He chopsied a little still from the divine after taste of the Rootweed, and spoke: "Good day everyone. Grigori, you may arise from your slumber now if you would be a chap. I'd like everybody except Robert in the briefing room in 20 minutes please." A various string of acknowledgements came back to him, playing back directly into his head rather than via his ears.

He popped the glass back onto his desk now that it was empty, and put away the bottle of Rootweed, lest he drink too much of the stuff that was his fondness for it. He immediately reached down for one of the dataslates, and stared at the readout with a hand to his palm.

"The mouse in Sernusious will shy away, the lion's roar will turn to dust, and the eagle will consume the remains."

He stared at the readout for a few minutes, the green light reflecting in his eyes. A further gravitational shift caught him unawares, and he almost slipped from his chair. He was about to scold Lieutenant Carley when Rober voxxed through first. "Sorry, Sir. Had urgent instruction from atmo control to lower altitude rapidly. More important ship jumping ahead of us." The Inquisitor gave a puzzled and annoyed expression, but said nothing and turned his vox off.

>> No.11809019


The Istvaanian could potentially be assisted by Logician Hereteks, who also believe in progress and strengthening the Imperium through radical change. They also dabble in xenotech quite a bit, which is always cool.

>> No.11809377

Perhaps he should have announced his arrival? Robert had better not have broken anything.

No. He thought to himself. He needed at least some stealth should whatever the situation was in Sernusious require such. It was much easier to lose a cover if needed than to gain one. Cracking his knuckles – he got up with a brisk haste and paced to his apparellium. He took his shirt partly off, letting it sit on his shoulders whilst he buckled his unobtrusive combat harness under it. In it was a small utility knife, the other pocket was empty for now. He also obtained one of his muted dark blue, full length survival jackets, repleat with flak armouring and changed his trousers to a flak armoured pair.

He grabbed a child-sized polymer container from the back of his apparellium and tossed in a few changes of clothes, all combat sorts and mostly similar, and a carapace armour chest piece. Pressing a button on the side of container after closing it, now full of clothing, he carried it by a handle with one hand to the other side of the room, where he opened a chute in the wall and cast the container into.

The inquisitor paused for a moment, getting the feeling he'd forgotten to pack something. He rand through the list of things he wanted and had a quick glance in the apparellium, but it was apparent that he had remembered everything. He strolled out into the corridor, securing his room behind him. The corridor was currently empty aside from himself, but he wasn't going far. The next room down, from his.

>> No.11809510

He stopped and banged hard on the door three times. Hearing nothing, as always, he scanned his palm and the door opened obediently. The inside of the room was lit only by candlelight casting flickering shadows on the walls, and a black veil was hanging on the inside of the door. The inquisitor parted the veil and stepped inside, turning a slight corner. This room was slightly smaller than his own, but had significantly fewer furnishings. One bookcase, nearly empty, and one bed. Hanging from the ceiling were further veils. Candles dotted the bare floor around the edge of the room. Sat on the bed was a slender, pale skinned woman with very long, dark brown hair. She sat facing the door with an absent-minded stare, wearing nothing but the pillow that she huddled onto. He face was covered in the shadows from the candlelight.

"Eleanor." The inquisitor stated to get her attention.

She snapped out of her dazed state, her head bolting straight upwards to look at him. Her hair cascaded outwards as she did. Her eyes were wide, a bit like woodland animal staring into a bright light.

"Put on some clothes please." He commanded blankly.

She replied by nodding a few times, and vaulting off the bed with a front flip in the direction of her rooms apparellium. The inquisitor stood and waited for a few moments whilst she fumbled to get changed.

>> No.11809549

Now dressed in an offwhite and red dress, she briskly walked to the front of the inquisitor and stopped. Her delicate facial features now visible to Orian. Totally unblemished, she stared at him with her crystal blue eyes with an inquisitive expression.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked her.

She broke a very small smile and nodded at the inquisitor.

"Good" Orian smiled back an placed a hand on her shoulder. "To the briefing room please. You are coming with me to this planet."

Her eyes widened – in surprise, shock, fear and excitement all at once. Orian stepped backwards a couple of paces and opened the door for her, notioning with his head for her to exit. She complied without argument, shuffling out of the door, nearly tripping over her dress a couple of times as she turned right upon exiting. A quick yelp from her a moment later brought Orian out of the room, although in no due rush.

Eleanor had stumbled upon the most senior of his retinue, Rubens McPherson, clad in full camouflage and facepaint, having just come from the range most likely. She was against the wall with her right hand outstretched, air disturbances at her fingertips causing a lensing effect.

>> No.11809730

Rubens was still, standing with his hands lazily together in front of him. He was a few inches shorter than Orian, his hair jet black, his face starting to show his age. He looked at Orian with his brown eyes, and raised his thick eyebrows to him.

"You can stop Eleanor," Orian started, "It's Rubens."

She looked back at Orian with the frightened-like expression that she wore when she was poised for a fight, and then back at Rubens. She cautiously inspected him for a few moments with a frown. Satisfied, she stood off from the wall and continued to the briefing room as previously ordered. Rubens' gaze followed her as she carried on, his face wore a puzzled look. Orian disregarded any potential question that the Tathainearaí might have had about the episode, instead stating "Clean your face up Rubens" as he walked passed to the armour.

"Will do!" He replied enthusiastically, trotting off to his own quarters, simultaneously removing the outer layer of his camouflage. "Be quick please." Was Orian's response as he scanned his hand on the armoury door. A large clunk signified that the door was now unlocked, and it swung open automatically after a moment.

>> No.11809952

He instantly heard that someone else was in the room already, and was unsurprised to find Caitlín Níniea stowing away a long barrelled rifle. Caitlín was from Eritan, like the Inquisitor himself. Her shoulder length copper hair was tied out of the way, and she was clad in the same forest fatigues as Rubens. She was quite short, coming up to the inquisitor's upper arm. Camoflagued paint was also covering her entire face, hiding the pretty features that she had. Her green eyes met the inquisitor's own as she bolted a cage shut that held her rifle.

"Impirra dich" she stated to the Inquisitor in her native language.

"Hello Caitlín" He replied. He was in a rush, and didn't wish to engage in a conversation with her at the moment.

"Ye need me in the breifing room as soon as poss, aye?" She stated in her thick accent.

"Please." He stated, whilst going straight to the lockers where the pistols were kept. "Clean yourself up swiftly, and make sure that you avoid Eleanor like that if you would."

"Fair." She stated as an acknowledgement. "See ye'in 5." She beamed a smarmy smile at Orian, who shook his head and grinned whilst he grabbed a machine pistol and a magazine of ammunition, putting them into his holster unloaded. Pulling his coat back over his shoulders, he paced out of the armoury in the direction of the briefing room, hitting a button on the door, it began to close itself.

>> No.11809963

how's it sounding so far anon?

>> No.11810133

bump for feedback

>> No.11810595

I enjoy it tremendously and could not find anything wrong besides the odd misspelling.

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